Missing You
by Allison Jayne
Summary: Auld Alliance (ScotFra) angst. If I go on with it, I'll probably change the rating.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note

 _I really have no idea where I'm going with this fanfiction or if I will write more or if I won't. I have ideas. I just need to sort out what direction I'm going with it. I obviously haven't written anything that I've put on the site in a long time, so cut me some slack if I'm not very good. Hetalia doesn't belong to me._

Fingertips brushed over Francis's thighs and across his chest. Lips connected with his over and over, soft but persistant. Without opening his eyes, he knew the body that hovered over his. He could picture his scarlett hair, freckled skin and his muscles shifting to keep himself from falling onto the blonde. "Allistor." He sighed out the Scottish man's name and all at once it stopped. He couldn't feel him anymore and Francis painfully remembered how haunted he was. It had been a blissful few moments where a dream lingered, but it was never real anymore. He was not coming back. It was foolish to even entertain such a fantasy.

He didn't dare to open his eyes, not yet. It was still dark in his room, so it wasn't morning. He would have been able to see the light through his eyelids if that were the case. If he openened his eyes, tears that were collecting underneath would spill out and onto his pillow anyway. It had been years and this stupid, aching feeling in his chest always found its way back to him. Francis breathed deeply, though his lungs shuddered and he choked on a sob.

Those tears were coming with or without his permission. He had no choice but to finally sit himself up and wipe at his cheeks with his forearms like a child. It was 3:42 in the morning. It would be the same time in Spain, but what choice did he have? He took up his cellphone, hesitating for all of two minutes before he hit 'call'. Antonio answered as usual after three rings and in a voice still full of sleep. Francis hadn't expected that he would have been awake. He always felt guilty for doing this. "Tonio-"

"Si. It's alright, but I can't come tonight." the Spaniard mumbled. Francis could hear him lay his head back onto his pillow. This was not the first time that he had called him at these odd hours. Francis never said why exactly he called and Antonio never needed to ask.

"Non. I didn't think so, but could you sing for me?" He asked, voice thin and a bit higher than his usual pitch. Antonio grunted, moving again, most likley. He did sing, though. He sang softly, without his guitar this time.

Francis laid himself back down after his eyes were dry enough and he concentrated on the Spaniard's soothing voice so it almost made him forget why he had woken in the first place. This helped him possibly more than Antonio could ever know. He fell back to sleep near the end of Antonio's second song, not dreaming again or if he did, he couldn't remember what it was about in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Allistor was just fine. If fine meant that he was so completely drunk that every breath in or out burned his throat. He had consumed so much damned wine and vomitted up more than should have been possible. He didn't even like the stuff. Whiskey was stronger and it had the job done more quickly. How did a person even get drunk on this weak, fruity piss? He had more than a couple bottles for sure. He had laid himself down in the basement of his home. The floor was cool on his cheek, but it did very little for the spinning. He wished he would pass out or else fall asleep. If he could only fall asleep for a while, the hangover would be preferable to this. He knew it would make sick, but he had done it anyway and even in his inebreated state, he wouldn't foolishly promise himself that this wouldn't happen again. This was where Francis had kept his wine, after all and there was still so much left. What would he even do when every bottle was at last gone? Take down the racks? Probably not. He would leave them in place and empty.

He was not in the habit of praying except maybe in a mocking way anymore, but he thought about it just them. His arms felt too weak and numb to hold himself up any longer, but they miraculously managed. Walking was not something he thought to even attempt, instead, grasping at the stone under himself and crawling or dragging himself to the corner. He knew that there was a chest where some things had been left behind by Francis. He wasn't sure if they would make him feel better or worse, but they would make him feel something besides sick, he hoped. Allistor propped himself agains the wall and lifted the lid, fumbling a moment when he had forgotten to pop open the latch. It gave off a high piched groan from the hinges, but he found inside ribbons and perfume and lovely blue fabric. If he were small enough, he would have crawled into this box, closed the lid and slept there, but not like this. He wouldn't have risked being sick on Francis' things.

Here he always thought Francis was dramatic and here he was carrying on and on because of this one loss. He could hardly see the point in being prideful anymore. This was a problem, but he didn't think there was any help out there. He could not have Francis back and even if he could, damage had been done, years had passed. He had heard that the blonde had lovers, though indirectly. No one seemed too keen on giving Allistor information about his former lover. Maybe they could see through him. Either way, he knew the subject was generally avoided in his presence and he left it that way. He didn't want to know who the Frenchman took to his bed. Francis should have been with him all this time. It was wrong that they should have ever been apart.


End file.
